


that ain't me

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alien Mythology/Religion, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Attempted Rape, Child Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Humans sure are weird!, Hypnotism, Illustrated, Implied Relationships, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Kanaya is a badass bitch, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mind Games, Mind Rape, Porn With Plot, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con References, Recreational Drug Use, Scary Sexy Gamzee, Sober Gamzee, Stupid Sexy Strider, Teen Pregnancy, Troll families sure are weird!, Unplanned Pregnancy, trolls don't understand mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Homestuck AU where everyone is the same but they're trailer trash. Also Davekat happens and it's somehow the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. just another schoolday

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr bad-imagation.tumblr.com - which included pictures both interesting and lewd but I'm still learning Ao3 and its coding stuff so that won't be happening for a while until I have become a master of Ao3. In the meantime, enjoy Trailerstuck. Its a weird little story I rp'd with Mellamo one night and thought "Yeah. I'm gonna write this shit out and see what happens".

**== > Be the trailer trash mutantblood peasant outcast**

 

“WHO YOU CALLING A ‘PEASANT’ YOU YELLOW-NOOKLICKING GILL FACED SON OF A RANCID OLD ASS BITCH?”

“YOU…Y-YA LANDWWELLIN HALFBREED MUTATED SACK A SHIT!”

You break Ampora’s jaw and are sent home from PS 342. You wait in the principle’s office. Ampora didn’t even lay a scratch on you so you’re not at the nurse’s station with him. One good punch and the little shit was down and wailing like the finned bitch he is.

Your father is not pleased he’s hauling you out of school once again. You sit in the car and immediately he gives you a diatribe about what a little prick you are. He grips the worn out steering wheel, shoulders stiff and trying to look as dignified as possible when he’s chewing you out with nice polite words.

“Karkat, honestly. You are threatening to trigger me this constant acting out at school.” he begins, long winded as usual, “You should exercise your aggression in a more constructive manner instead of hurting your classmates. One more incident like this and they’ll have you shipped off up north. Why don’t you join one of the sports team if you—”

 

“I already got kicked off of baseball for breaking the blind as fuck ref’s nose and soccer for hitting that sweaty blueblood tool in the face with a ball. I’m not allowed to go for sports, but you’d fucking know that if you ever paid attention to anyone besides your pals Jack and Daniel.”

_“Watch it.”_

Its only when your father’s voice drops an octave lower that you’re cowed back into angry silence. Just because you’re sixteen doesn’t mean he won’t go upside your head once he’s been “triggered”. It’s one of the reasons he was fired from his latest career in construction work.

It’s not a far drive from the school to your neck of the woods: a plot of land three miles long in every direction and crowded with mobile hiveunits in various stages of urban ugliness and decay. The mobilehive lot has gotten crowded in the past two Ages with the economic boom followed by the brutal inevitable crash. It’s taken over three old neighborhoods now, even the old blueblood neighborhood like Beryl Heights and even infecting into the purpleblood ghetto of Aniline End.

Your father parks the hovercar on the scraggily lawnring, ignoring the pink plastic seahorses your mother adorned it with to try and ‘cheer up’ the place a bit. It looks as tacky as the assholes across the street from you with the taxidermied crocodiles and puppets out there. You step out the car and head toward the mobilehive.

“Karkat. Karkat, get back here. Karkat Vantas, we are not finished discussing this.” your father calls.

You’re done talking about this. You unlock the door, tracking dirt onto the already filthy carpet. At some point it was cream yellow; now it’s a dirty mustard shade like the blood going through Captor’s veins. You kick an empty six pack box out of your path and stalk to your room. Your father shuts the mobilehive door behind you.

“KARKAT!” he calls.

You flip him off and enter your bedroom, slamming and locking the door. The lock’s been busted by your father two times over in a drunk triggered rage. You made sure not to anger him enough this time. Your bedroom is ridiculously small, just a ten by ten square with your recuperacoon pushed into the corner and an old stained daybed next to it. The daybed is your everything: your desk, your dinner table, and where you can relax.

You take out a book you “unofficially loaned” (stole) from the meager school library from your sylladex and start reading.

You don’t leave your room, even for dinner.


	2. that night across the street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too much time making sure Karkat's bulge looked exactly right. This is the kind of life I live. - badAquatic

You wake up with a cramping pain in your abdomen. You stumble from your bedroom to the narrow closet of a bathroom. Your stomach is empty though so it’s not another bout with food poisoning from your mother’s old homeworld cooking. You exit the bathroom walk to the kitchenette and find a plate of leftover fish and rice.

You eat dinner cold and watch re-runs of Subjug Shore on NoiseTV; that episode where Troll Snooki falls drunk down the stairs with her polka dot pants around her ankles and a festive bucket on her head.

 

 

There are a 150 other channels you have access to via pirated satellite but most of its re-runs of shows from three Ages ago. The air in the mobilehive is chilled in the darkness of pre-dawn. You avoid stepping on freshly emptied beer bottles and walk over to the kitchen sink to wash out the plates piled there. You look out the window. It’s never quiet for long in this neighborhood. A car alarm is going off down the street, where Harley lives. It covers up the sound of your mother snoring. Elsewhere, police sirens scream (probably another quadrant spat on Newford Street or break in again along Park Avenue).

Across the street, the lights are on—which isn’t unusual since the asshole apes are nightowls.

There is someone at the window.

All these trailers are identical on the inside so you know the person must be at their kitchen sink as well. You squint. Your grandfather’s eyes were made for darkness, hating the bright sunlight of this alien world. Two generations later, you can only see vague shapes in darkness. You’re lucky the dim lights are on in the mobilehive.  

It’s an adolescent human male the same age as you. He’s brushing his teeth, looking bored. He’s wearing stupid shades indoors. His hair is obnoxiously blond. He isn’t wearing a shirt. You’re not even sure if he’s wearing boxers. He might be nude. Just standing there. Brushing his teeth. Not realizing that the troll across the street is gazing at him with hungry eyes.

 

 

You don’t know _why_ you’re thinking about this.

You shut the blinds and finish the dishes. The image remains in your head as you scrub the remains of pickled spicy cabbage and fermented fish entrails. You’ve gotten so used to the pungent smell that it no longer stings your nostrils. You finish the dishes and return to the couch. The image still floats in your head.

Adolescent male. Walking past you nude in the showers right after gym class. Sweaty from practice. Unaware of your existence.

It’s disgusting to think that a troll would want to lay pipe into a knuckle dragging ape.

You turn off the TV, retreat to your bedroom and relax on the daybed. You’ll read some more of your novel, the tales of forbidden romance on the old homeworld among the old hemocaste system.  

You wonder where you would even put it in the human as he lies beneath you. The glasses mask his eyes and you can’t tell if he wants it bad or if he’s perplexed by your arousal. He has a perfect poker face.

There is an unusual heat between your legs. You growl, putting away your book and setting to the task of once again unenthusiastically jerking off. It’s only after you climax into your pillow to muffle your soft moans that you realize something: you know that naked ape’s name and face.

 

 


	3. that morning you walk to school

It’s morning when you encounter him again.

You’re walking down the road toward the bus stop. There is a small tribe of walking in your own cliques. Just because you’re all mobilehive trash doesn’t mean you all hang together. Even in the mobilehives there’s hierarchy. Humans with the non-humanoids like the salamanders and crocodiles. Trolls with the carapaces. Only the carapaces were allowed to mingle, a neutral party and buffer between the noble horned ones and the meandering naked apes.

Trolls have their own groups. In this day and age it was easier to associate with your clubs than hemotypes, especially if you were a rare mutation like in your or Feferi’s case. There was the RPG Club (Tavros, Terezi, Vriska), the Drama Club (Aradia, Kanaya, Eridan), the Math Team (Sollux, Equius), and Yearbook Club (Feferi, Nepeta).

Then there’s you. The oddball. (Though Terezi has been nagging you into joining the RPG Club since they need another player to “Hero of Blood” for SGrubs & Burbs. You told her you weren’t a big nerd.)

You walk down the street with Nepeta talking in your ear. She’s always been your little shadow since she lives right next door. You see Aradia talking with that asshole Captor, knowing he’s just stringing her along for shits and giggles. You know Feferi can’t be that far behind. Eridan probably won’t come to school being the whiny bitch he is after yesterday.

Across the road you see the human boy walking alone, wearing a red shirt and jeans. Tight jeans. Tight jeans where if you look hard enough, you could easily measure out the size of the boy he’s got there…

 

You glower at him.

“HEY STRIDER! IF YOU’RE GOING TO RUN AROUND NAKED IN YOUR FUCK UGLY MOBILEHIVE, YOU SHOULD SHUT YOUR BLINDS SO I DON’T HAVE TO GAWK AT YOUR HIDEOUS MILKSUCKING BLUNTSKULLED WHITE EYED RUSTBLOODED NAKED APE GLUTE ALL NIGHT LONG!”

Nepeta shudders and looks uneasily toward the human. A clusterfuck of minor insults can break out into a riot in a low class powder keg like this. You’re expecting it.

The human just glances at you after that barrage of insults. “Any reason you were looking?” he asks, flatly.

There’s no indication of outrage or even anger in those words. Not even a profanity about how trolls were incestuous vicious mutated bugs. The words still cut through you. You walk over to him, snarling. Nepeta seizes your arm before you can take three steps. The human stares at you.

“Karkitty! NO! You attack anymore people and you’ll have to go to the Institute! _Murr_!”

_“LET ME GO NEPETA!”_

“It’s not a big deal!”   

_“HE’S CALLING ME A GODSDAMNED APE-FUCKER!”_

“Karkitty, shoosh! You picked the fight! I don’t want you to be a VTY—”

Dave Strider walks off, while Nepeta’s feet drag in the dirt road as she tries to hold you back. You want to sock Strider in the jaw. You want to wring his skinny little neck and do a hundred other unpleasant things to him…but then Nepeta starts crying. If her pale shooshes won’t work, then she’ll sob hysterically out about how you’ll be imprisoned for attacking a human unprovoked, tortured, and coming back a shell of a troll like her father did.

You cave in like a house of cards and end up shoosh papping _her_ on the bus keeping her calm after another fit.


	4. now a moment with the Scourge Sisters & Snarky Broad Sidekick

School is tedious and you don’t even care. All the schools in New Jack City are zoned and your school is isolated in the shittiest part of the sprawling island metropolis—where the air has a tinge of metal salts from the colossal chemical plant your mobilehive park lies in the shadow of and the waterways are dark and coppery; even seatrolls won’t swim in it for long. The teachers are not certified yet and too young to care or know what they’re doing half the time since they’re new at this. Most of them will teach only for a few years so that the student loans will be paid off by the state and then immediately relocate to a school out in the rich suburbs like Variance Beach.

The only reason you bother going to class is because you like catching up on the gossip of quadrants. Reality is so much more fascinating and juicier than movies sometimes, especially with all the quadrant vacillation at your age. You sit in the back of the classroom and listen to conversations in whispers. As long as you whisper, the teacher won’t care. (The students with potential sit at the front of the class after all.)

Terezi, Kanaya, and Vriska are magnets for gossip. You read your novel as a seadweller prince pines for a redblood on ancient Alternia, and occasionally tune into the Scourge Sisters & Snarky Broad Sidekick.

“Word is Feferi is wriggled up by Captor which is why she hasn’t been in school the past two days. Captor is sniffing near Aradia since he isn’t getting any.” says Vriska. 

Terezi gasps, scandalized. “No way! Eridan told me she was on the pill!”

“It could have fluctuated when she hit her heat. You know mutantbloods. Pills and maskers can only do so much.” Vriska counters.

“Seadwellers breed as slow as snails so it can’t be that…” Terezi ponders.

“It could have easily been sabotage.” offered Kanaya, “The city will pay plenty to support underage wrigglers and since Feferi and Sollux are too young to be officially quadranted, that adds on more boondollars.”

Vriska whispers, “Like Aradia and Equius?”

Terezi frowns. “It wasn’t on purpose. The pill failed and she needed the money anyways. Plus she isn’t even that far along yet…”

You glance over. “Does Captor know that?” All three shake their heads. You grin, “Aw, shit son…I wanna see his fang-crowded mug when he hears the news.”

“I heard a rumor Eridan might be as well.” Kanaya suggests.

Terezi sticks out her tongue. “Who would do _that_?”

“Ampora sticks out his ass for anyone who will pay him an ounce of attention since he doesn’t get it at home.” you answer.

Vriska is grinning scandalized, “I could care less about fin-boy but _Feferi_? She’s supposed to be the All-New Jack girl! It’s going to make this shithole look even shittier when it gets out that she’s knocked up! Who did you think sabotaged it?”

Terezi rubs her chin. “The suspects are many in this case.

“Suspect one: Sollux Captor—being the bipolar idiot he is, could have sabotaged it while angry about something or other without knowing it. All psionics are unpredictable after all.

“Suspect two: Feferi Peixes—who is well aware of Sollux’s pailhounding ways and may have willingly stopped taking her pills with the hopes of getting wriggled up. After all, having Sollux’s grub would permanently tie him to her both emotionally and economically. It might be her ticket out of here as well if she plays her cards right in the approaching future.

“Suspect three: Meenah Peixies—Feferi’s genetic father who is infamous as a spendthrift and hopeless shopaholic with a taste for gaudy and expensive jewelry and designer clothes. It’s possible that when Meenah saw her coffers getting low, she decided she could use her daughter as a new cash moobeast. After all, being Feferi’s legal guardian meant that she had constant access to Feferi’s pills as she paid for them. She could have sabotaged it at any time without suspect and knowing Feferi’s relationship with Sollux has been strained as of late, as well as knowing Sollux’s fame as a young computing genius; tethering her daughter to Sollux in the form of offspring is more than she could ever hope for…”

Terezi trails off frowning before adding, “The evidence of Meenah’s guilt piles up quite nicely when you think about it.”

“Not like it’s uncommon, Pyrope. That’s how I was conceived.” you grunt, “Grandpa Dualscar got tired of Mom fucking about with apes and demanded he continue the line or he was going to gut him like a minnow.” You roll your eyes, “Good thing my egg came out cherry red and I didn’t grow up to a spoiled grub clinging to grandpa’s leg.”    

“Not that it makes much difference.” says Kanaya, “Spoiled or not, Eridan is no richer than us. Your grandfather Dualscar has no more money than our grandmother Mindfang.” At the latter she nods to Vriska.

Vriska yawns. “I haaaaaaaate it how Mom Aranea makes us go visit her at the old folk’s home up on Fourth and Main _every gods-damned_ Winter Holiday. It’s soooooooo depressing there! Nothing but a bunch of old timers talking about how great the homeplanet was and how New Earth sucks and is filled with naked apes and lizards. Grandma Mindfang doesn’t even recognize us anymore, so why bother visiting anyway?! She won’t remember it!”

“Grandmother Mindfang has been slipping considerably since Grandmother Dolorosa passed away. Karkat, be thankful your grandfather Dualscar is still mentally capable. Imagine all the things you could learn about Alternia from him for Ancient History class.”

You snort. “Oh yeah, Kanaya. Like the old barnacle bothers talking to me when he has his precious fishy hipster grandson to keep around. Dualscar hates me for being a mutant and that I can’t be culled on sight like in ‘the good ‘ol days’ and that there’s more of us than seadwellers since us mutantbloods fuck and push out eggs faster than any of the coldbloods. Well I say, sucks to be—”

You hear the classroom door open and shut. Dave Strider shuffles in, fifteen minutes late to class and bruise on his face. Terezi sniffs the air and grins. She’s one of those deviant trolls who has a ‘thing’ for apes, thus earning her the nickname “The Monkey Licker”. Strider doesn’t offer an excuse or apology to the teacher. He shuffles to three rows from the back and plops down right in front of you.

Great. Just fucking great! Now you have to stare at his blonde head for the rest of class. Just who the hell does he think he is? Obstructing your view of the board? Not that you give a fuck about this class but still!

 

Stupid fucking naked ape with his blonde hair and that scraggily beard that’s slowly growing in along his handsome face. His skin isn’t flawless but no hormonal teenager’s is, especially since all of you are fed on a steady diet of disappointment, grinding poverty, and cheap food from cans and boxes. Those apes and their fucking facial hair. Thank the gods above and below you can’t grow one.

Still, you wonder how it is with a beard.

Or what it would feel like against your skin.

Oh.

Oh gog.

You’re suddenly feeling that heat again and it worse than before. Kanaya sniffs the air and looks at you, jade hued eyes suddenly fascinated with you and what’s going on in your pants. Before she opens her mouth, you stand up and bolt out of the room. Hopefully it looks like you were pissed off at having Strider so close to you and not because you’re feeling unusually warm in your nether regions.  

You stalk through the dusty and cracked hallways to the men’s bathroom. You enter a stall, make sure the door is bolted before you yank down your pants and examine what in the fuck is going on down there.

Your bulge is bright red and dribbling red genetic fluid. You grimace and—with a great level of discomfort—slip your claws beneath your bulge and lightly graze your nook.

You’re wet as the swamps near your mobilehive. Your abdomen cramps a little at the revelation. You’ve actually started your heat cycle. A gods-damned naked ape brought on your heat cycle after years of delay and not having to worry.

You curse the gods above and below. You wipe up the mess of genetic fluids with toilet paper and leave the bathroom.


	5. VTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is an unwritten rule in Homestuck fandom that the word 'abscond' has to be used at least once in a work, or its not officially a Homestuck fanfic.

You spend the rest of the day avoiding coldbloods. Even Vriska is off limits right now. You just have to get through the day. If you skip school, you won’t be able to ask your asshole father to drive you to the clinic as it’s too far to hoof it and you don’t trust the bus station.

No. Not in this condition.

You’re start to feel a little dizzy, thinking about Strider’s weird human bulge and wondering how his fingers with their blunt little claws would feel rubbing the inside of your nook.

You end up sitting on the bleachers with Terezi and Aradia during gym. Aradia was benched because of her wriggled condition and Terezi, for insurance reasons, was banned from sports. You watch the softball game, see Tavros dash up to the net and bump against Vriska’s heftsacks while they’re both reaching for the ball. You see the secretive smirk on the brownblood’s face. You don’t really care though.

Your eyes are on Strider, who is mostly motionless, and in the company of three crocodiles whose names you never learned. Kanaya, who is normally active and nimble, seems distracted. Nepeta is bouncing around, cheering for Equius to make the ball explosively deflate again with his monstrous strength. The coach cautions for Nepeta not to dig her claws into the ball or rip the net on purpose.  

Same old, same old really.

The only new addition is a purpleblood on Strider’s team. The troll is nothing unusual for purple hemotype: tall, wild curled hair, painted face, baggy pants, and a dazed look in the eyes.

“Who’s the new purple?” you ask.

“Gamzee.” answers Aradia, “VTY just released. This is his first day I think.”

VTY. Violent Troll Youth. That was never a good thing and they _always_ got dumped in Aniline End since no other neighborhood wanted them. If you were a troll that had too many marks on your record, you got sent out of the city, off-island, and up north in the Noir Archipelago to the Amethyst Institute—where you would be doped up, psychoanalyzed, and imprisoned until deemed sane and civilized. All sorts of trolls got dumped into the Institute: PPT (Psychopathic Psionic Troll), SCT (Sexual Criminal Troll), GCT (Genocidal Complex Troll), and a hundred more 3 letter abbreviations, each more terrible than the last.  

You know very well that Nepeta’s grandfather is on _permanent_ isolated lock up as a GCT and the old goat was still kicking. Nepeta’s mother had encountered him _once_ , losing her hearing and nearly unborn Nepeta as well.

Rumor has it that the Amethyst Institute was built _just_ to keep the Grand Highblood locked up since he was too difficult to kill.

“How long was he in for?” you ask with a gulp.

“Two years doing a nickel in the joint if what I heard is true.” answers Terezi, cackling.

“You two need to stop watching old detective movies because I’m eighty percent sure that doesn’t mean what you _think_ it means.” you sigh.

“But it’s so _hardboiled_ , Karkat!” Aradia chuckles.  

“He’s marked as VTY but he’s also SAT, Sopor Addicted Troll. Whoever popped him out had a bad soporin habit so it showed up in his blood too. Probably why they let him go early since it’s not his fault he’s mentally unstable.”

You shake your head and absentmindedly make a sign against evil across your chest. “He’s a sopor grub? That shit’s serious. I don’t envy him.”

“He seems friendly.” offers Aradia, “I saw him talking to Tavros earlier. Tavros was trying to recruit another member for SnB.”

“Purplebloods are coldblooded fuck machines—pun completely intended _heh_!” answers Terezi, “They just _know_ when a troll’s ready to go into heat and they just hover over them and _wait_ for the right moment to pounce and get their bulge in that tight action.”

“Oh those two are doomed then; though I think Tavros wears a masker and is on the pill from what Equius tells me.” Aradia adds, “I don’t blame him for his paranoia though. It’s dangerous to be warmblooded. Our parents wouldn’t be here were it not for the…horrible _immorality_ of our grandparents.”

Your eyes are on Gamzee. The purpleblood is watching the softball game with dazed interest, no doubt higher than a hovercar. He’s nothing like Strider. He’s not soft and alien but hard looking and gangly with scars knotted across his body, but you know under those baggy clothes he’s mostly muscle.

At that size, his bulge must be impressive.

  
 

You could see him in the changing stalls right outside of the locker room showers, thinking he was alone and indulging himself. In the ancient days he was the richest of bloods without having gills and could do as he pleased. He still thinks that way now after being in the Amethyst Institute for so long.

You walk in, not realizing he’s there in one of the stalls with the door open. Not giving a fuck who sees him. His bulge is out—dark and beautiful as a fine wine—glistening and writhing in his clawed fist. You shudder, feeling your legs quake as you watch genetic fluid spill out the tip. When he sees you, he lets go of himself. You turn and run but he rushes at you. He grabs your arm.

While you’re panting and pleading, he forces you down on all fours, on the dirty floor. He rips at your clothes and before you know it; his large fingers rub your nook and ask what a dirty mutant slut was doing wandering around all alone. You don’t want to admit that you came looking for a nice, thick bulge but he doesn’t give you a moment to argue. You feel him push that great blunt thing into your tight nook, until you can feel every inch of him—

Your delirious fantasy ends when you realize Gamzee Makara is looking directly at you. His eyes are shrunken against his yellowed sclera. Even at this distance you can tell his drug addled thinkpan is focused; sharp like a syringe.

Kanaya misses the ball completely and it hits her on the head. She looks over her shoulder, toward you.

While coach is screaming for Maryam to get her head in the gods-damned game, you abscond the fuck out of there.


	6. encounter with a highblood

You take a cold, fang chattering shower for the next ten minutes. It’s all you can do to calm yourself. Just three more hours and you can take the bus home. Stick close to Nepeta since her face always kills any erotic thoughts you have since she’s like a little sister. Keep Strider and Gamzee out of your thoughts.

You watch the red genetic fluid go down the drain. A millennia ago, back on now dead and gone Alternia, such an act would be a horrible waste of precious genetic fluids that would be placed in pails which would be given to the mothergrub.

But that was before the Starfall, before the era of the False Emperor, before your grandfathers cast aside their hatred and differences to bring him down, before the Harrowing that allowed the first trolls to arrive on this planet.

Now you’re just a teenaged troll with hormone problem you thought you wouldn’t have to deal with. So much for wanting miracles, even small ones. Thinking blasphemous thoughts, you leave the showers and get into the stall—changing back into your well worn clothes and hole filled sneakers.

You shuffle out of the stall. You turn the corner and see a blur of grey and white. Before you can respond you are slammed against the wall left of you by Gamzee Makara. You freeze. His large hand is around your left wrist, pinning it to the wall. His other hand touches the wall, fingers splayed next to your head.

The first thing he does is lean in close and sniff your skin. Sweat already dots your skin.  

“You smell motherfucking _good_ , my mutant brother.” he says, in a low growl.

  
 

“…please let me go.”

You try to stay as calm as possible but you can’t keep the squeak of fear out of your voice. You remember the seminars they your class sit through three years ago, when everyone else was going through their first heat cycles. You have to stay calm. Don’t act scared. Maintain eye contact. Fear only encourages purples to act.  

“What’s wrong, bro? You got my message didn’t you?” Gamzee grins. “It’s almost as if you didn’t _want_ this even though you could have cum on a hair from just the _thought_ of having me in you.”

Your eyes widen. Fear creeps into you. You beat it back. “Chucklevoodoos are a fucking myth…j-just like the Rift Carbunkle and the Condesce’s near immortality. You can’t…possibly be…you’re not a cerulean or a bronwblood.”

“No I’m not, mutantbro.” His left hand moves slides down your shoulder, moving to your chest. You shudder and try to slowly ease away. “I’ve got so much purple in me it’s hard to believe.”

You are inching toward the left and gently tug on your seized wrist. “I-I believe you. You can do… _that_. Please. Let me go. I’m a mutantblood. A freak. An abomination.” You gulp. Your mouth is so very _very_ dry. His grip isn’t slackening. “I am…n-not worthy of y-your…highblood g-genetic material so p-please let me go…I-I am the lowest of h-hemotypes…n-not even on the spec-spectrum…”

“You think I give a shit about that old hemocaste bullshit?”

He yanks you closer to him, pulling you away from the wall and right against his body. He towers over you. His left arm drapes possessively over your waist. He is still grinning.  

“You know what you want, and we both knowing that giving into that motherfucking sweet destructive fear inside you is for the best, because in the long run, Karkat Vantas…”

He leans forward and whispers into your ear,

“…I _will_ terrorfuck you and summon the Angel of Double Death.”  

You inhale sharply, now actively scrambling to get away from him. Your fear overtakes you and subconsciously you know this only makes things worse. You know he’ll rip off your ratty old black sweater any minute now and then he’ll just—

The door opens and shuts. Feet are running toward you.

Gamzee yelps and utters a string of horrible curses. He lets go of your wrist and you jump away from him. He doubles over with his hands over his bulge.

“ShitfuckmotherfuckingkicktothebulgefuckshitshitSHITSHIT”

His knees hit the ground as he continues his profuse swearing. You see Kanaya standing in back of him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I hope you have learned your lesson about getting a little _too_ frisky with unwilling mutantbloods.” the jadeblood pronounces.

Gamzee emits a low snarl that sounds vaguely like “gonna club your fucking head in and fuck your eyesocket jadebitch”, while he glares at Kanaya. The look in his eyes is beyond pitch. It’s more “I will gut you while you’re snoozing in your recuperacoon” poison. Kanaya doesn’t seem to care. She grabs your arm and drags you out of the showers and changing room, into the hallway.

“What do you think you’re _doing_?” she whispers to you, “You came to school in heat without a masker and there’s _purples_ running around? Are you even on the pill?”

“I…I just started…” you murmur.

“ _Just_ started?” Kanaya raises an eyebrow. “As in this is your first time…?”

You look down at the floor, hands in your pockets. You’re shaking. Despite the seminars, the pamphlets, self defense classes at the YMSA, and even things like pepper spray and tazers…you know very well that you have a 20% chance of escaping a coldblood when you’re in heat. 10% if you’re injured by him while making that escape.

Kanaya smiles sympathetically, touching your shoulder. “Karkat. Karkat, you’re fine now. Just go home and stay there until you can go to a clinic. Can you make it home by yourself?”  

You shake your head. “N-no…next to me is…a purpleblood too…”

Even though you know Kurloz is calm for a purpleblood, you’re still afraid you’ll wake up in the middle of the night with him sitting in your room. Waiting. Letting you know that he can have you any time he wants and there’s no escape.   

“Then we go together.” Kanaya decides.

“But what about school…?”

“I can afford to miss History with my average. What is important is keeping any aggressive trolls from taking advantage of your current condition. As a jadeblood, it is my inherited duty to protect trolls during their fertility cycles. I would be putting my Grandmother Dolorosa to shame if I didn’t. Come along, Karkat.”

She takes your hand, smiling down at you. You know it’s the cerulean half of her that gives her the height and aggression when dealing with coldbloods. You follow close to her, feeling like the Signless while the Dolorosa kept him hidden as long as possible during the Eighth Age.

Of course everyone knows what happened in the unfortunate end.

You stay close to Kanaya anyways.

* * *

The trip back to the mobilehive is uneventful. In this New Century, having a jadeblood escorting you was a sign for a medical emergency. Without the mothergrub to tend to, jadebloods were repurposed into the medical fields. Anyone who messes with you while being escorted means Kanaya can lay the TWWF smackdown on them with a get out of jail free card.

You enter the mobilehive. Your Mom works two jobs: one shift at Tulip’s Nail Salon on Fifth from seven to three, another shift at Walmart until ten. Your Dad…well he just sits around most of the day. Sometimes he goes out to buy beer, snacks, and on occasion go to a rally downtown but other than that it’s just a bland cycle of anger-beer-trigger-more beer-pass out. Not that you’re surprised. With your father’s lineage and upbringing he was bound to have anger problems.   

You say goodbye to Kanaya and enter your mobilehive. Your father is lying on the couch, beer in hand. There is a glazed look in his eyes.

“Oh for gods’s sake, Kankri! It’s not even fucking _evening_ and you’re already fucking blasted!”

Your father sits up, frowning.

“Karkat, what are you even doing—”

“KANKRI. Shut up, sober up, and take me to the clinic. I’m in heat.”

Kankri snarls at you but stands up to go put his beer in the fridge. Even he can’t lecture you when he knows it’s something as important as this. The clinic is only open for so long.


	7. the clinic

 

Like most the people in your neighborhood, you don’t have insurance of any sort. You get aid under Medijack vouchers that covers expenses to a certain point before you have to start forking over cash yourself, and only certain places take it. The clinic on Park Avenue is always crowded because everyone knows it’s open at limited hours. You end up sitting in the waiting room for two hours, sweating and trying to ignore the sensation between your legs. You’re not the only teenager or adult here in the middle of a heat cycle, most of them accompanied by a jadeblood.

Most of the clinic’s money goes to having a large security staff.

After two mistakes, they finally call your name. You’re not the only Vantas here. Certain surnames constantly crop up in this neighborhood, like Makara, Vantas, Maryam, and Nitram.

You spend most of the examination cursing and screaming at the physician because his hands are _cold_ and the speculum is _cold_ and you end up kicking the _bastard_ in his fucking _face_ because he’s a _moron_ who assumed you’d already been _fucking_ like a damn rabbit.

_“What in the fuck is wrong with you?!”_ you shout.

“Karkat! Stop this at once and calm down!”

Kankri is holding you by the waist since you’re about ready to reach across the examination table and sock the physician right in the eye. The physician has a coldpack against his nose, which is dripping baby blue blood on the clean floor.

“It was just a speculum, Mr. Vantas.” the physician responds. Judging from the bandage on his hand, he’s dealt with worse tempers today. “I have to look at your eggsack to see what’s going on if you’re having abominable pains and entering your fertility cycle so late—”

_“That metal fucker is huge! I haven’t fucked anybody so don’t go shoving an adult sized one in me!”_

“ _Anyway_ ,” the physician responds, “for what I could _briefly_ tell there’s no obvious abnormalities. The cramping may just be from veins dilating to give your eggsack more blood. It’s highly unusual for a mutantblood to just start his fertility cycle at your age but it’s not unheard of. It could be a dietary or simply a genetic thing. There are different levels of mutations even among trolls, such as non seatrolls growing vestigial gills or even winged and antennae.”

Kankri shrugs. “It’s not impossible. My matesprit was late with his.”

The physician looks over your chart. “It’s says here your heritage is redblood mutant and seatroll. Violet hemotype I’m assuming?” Kankri nods. “Yes, it is common for seatrolls to not enter their fertility cycles until the late adolescent years. Fuschiablood mutants are a different story and since there’s so few documented cases of them it’s difficult to tell. There is more knowledge of redblood mutants as their population is a bit denser.”

“What…” you murmur, “…what about purplebloods?”

The physician’s eyebrows arch. “What about them?”

“Is…is there such a thing as a purpleblood mutant?”

“Are you currently quadranted with a purpleblood?”

“What? _NO!_ They’re unstable and scary as fuck! My friend’s father is a purple and he was dangerous as shit before they doped him up!”

The physician is scanning your face to see if you’re lying. Being quadranted with a purpleblood is just as good as saying “I make out with a ticking time bomb”. After a minute of staring you down, the physician sits on a stool and folds his hands in his lap.

“The only well documented case of coldblood mutations are the violetblood mutations, the fuschiabloods. Other than that, mutations do not easily manifest in coldblood hemotypes. There are no documented cases of purpleblood mutations and if so, most likely they would be highly unstable and placed in the Amethyst Institute for the remainder of their lives.”

“So…there’s no purpleblood mutants. And no such thing as chucklevoodoos.”

The physician shakes his head. “There are also no documented cases of Psionically Active Trolls in the purpleblood hemotype, or ‘chucklevoodoos’ as you call them. It is most likely that the rumors of ‘chucklevoodoos’ were created when purple hemotypes had access to some form of hypnotism which was later interpreted to be chucklevoodoos in order to discourage rebellions on ancient Alternia.”

The physician continues prattling on about how the abdominal cramps would subside in time, how to keep your pheromones from raging out of control, and the early signs of wriggling. You get a month’s worth of pills covered by Medijack. It’ll keep you from getting knocked up and mask some of the pheromones. You also got a free packet of troll condoms, courtesy of the state.  

You let the physician’s words roll around in your head like a mantra: no such thing as chucklevoodoos. No such thing as chucklevoodoos…

You remember Gamzee Makara—in your reality, in your fantasy—growling low and claiming you as his own. When he finishes savaging your body, he bites your neck so others will know you’re his personal property.

_I_ will _terrorfuck you and summon the Angel of Double Death._

Chucklevoodoos aren’t real.

Yeah… _right_!

* * *

You go back home in silence. Once you’re back at the mobilehive, Kankri tries to get you to talk about quadrants but it’s awkward as fuck. You know the only reason your mother made their matespritship official was to please Dualscar. He has no right to talk quadrants with you. You rest in your recuperacoon, relaxing in warm 40% sopored slime and chatting with your friends over Trollichum using your iHusk.

GC: TH4T R34LLY SUCKS K4RKL3S >:/

GC: WH4T 4R3 YOU GO1NG TO DO 4BOUT SCHOOL?

CG: FUCK IT.

CG: THERE IS NO WAY I’M GOING TO SCHOOL AND END UP GETTING MOLESTED IN THE BATHROOM BY SOME COLDBLOOD TRYING TO GET THEIR ROCKS OFF. I’D RATHER MISS A FEW DAYS AND BE SAFE IN MY SHITTY MOBILEHIVE.  

AA: why d0nt y0u wear a masker like tavr0s

CG: BECAUSE I CAN’T AFFORD THAT SHIT LIKE NITRAM CAN.

GC: I’M ON MEDIJACK AND I USED MOST OF THE VOUCHERS UP FOR THE YEAR WHEN I HAD BOVINIC-SWINE FLU.

GA: The School Year Is Almost Over So There Should Be No Worries About You Missing A Day Or Two

AG: Yessssssss! A few more weeks and we will 8e released from the prison of education! ::::D

CG: AND BACK INTO THE PRISON OF DOING JACK SHIT AROUND THE MOBILEHIVE PARK EXCEPT LISTENING TO NEPETA’S DAD HAVE BANJO DUELS WITH CAPTOR’S DAD.

GA: Nepetas Father Is Quite Skilled With The Stringed Instruments Though So It Can Be Pleasant To Listen To

CG: NOT AT THREE AM IT ISN’T.

AA: where is nepeta at right n0w

AA: usually she is 0nline rping with equius but he tells me she isnt 0n right n0w

CG: SHE’S HANGING OUT WITH HER FOLKS. THEY MUST BE PARTYING CAUSE I CAN HEAR MUSIC ALL THE WAY IN MY ROOM. I THINK THEY HAVE COMPANY OR SOMETHING.

AG: Her cousin was just released from the Institute and into the custody of her father so yeah, they’re throwing a party.

AA: c0usin

AA: i didnt kn0w nepeta had m0re family

CG: NEPETA HAS FAMILY ON EVERY FUCKING SPIT OF LAND THAT CALLS ITSELF AN ISLAND FOR ALL WE KNOW. THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD FUCKED ANYTHING THAT COULDN’T FLY, SWIM, RUN, OR HIDE FAST ENOUGH. IT’S JUST THAT MOST OF THEM ARE LOCKED UP IN THE INSTITUTE EXCEPT FOR HER DAD AND ABOUT TEN OTHERS, AT THE MOST.

GC: WHOS H3R COUS1N? DO3S H3 GO TO OUR SCHOOL? >:?

AG: Isn’t it obvioussssssss?

GA: Not Exactly

GA: As Karkat Stated Earlier The Grand Highblood Has Many Descendants And The Surname Makara Is Rather Common Especially In Our Particular Zoned Off Education Building

CG: UGH! I HATE HOW MANY COLDBLOODS WE HAVE IN OUR SCHOOL! NO OFFENSE, VRISKA, YOU’RE COOL…SOMETIMES.

AG: I am the coolest of the cool. >::::)

CG: BUT THE REST OF THEM CAN BE A PAIN IN THE ASS WITH THIS HEAT CYCLE. THE HUMANS ARE JUST AS BAD. YOU REMEMBER THAT EGBERT ASSHOLE ASKING ABOUT “MPREG” OR SOME SHIT IN HEALTH CLASS AND BEING ALL WEIRDED OUT?

GC: JOHN 4ND TH3 HUM4NS 4R3 4LW4YS CONFUS3D 4BOUT TROLL R3PRODUCT1ON 4ND HOW W3 H4V3 1NT3RS3X R3PRODUCT1V3 ORG4NS

GA: I Believe The Term “M-Preg” He Used Pertains To The Human Fictional Fantasy Of One Of Their Males Becoming Impregnated

GC: WHY WOULD SOMEONE WRITE A FANTASY ABOUT SOMETHING SO MUNDANE?

GA: For Humans It Is Not Mundane As Their Reproductive Organs Are Not Intersexual Thus An Impregnated Human Male Is Something Rather Fantastic And Regarded With A Strange Almost Fetishlike Fascination While Other Humans Are Repulsed By It

AG: Kanaya!!!!!!!!

AG: BLUUUUUUUUUH!

AG: Stop talking about sex stuff so much! You sound like Mom Porrim talking about work! Eg8ert is just a 8ig dork!

AG: …A big cute dum8ass dork. <33333333

CG: OH GODS, VRISKA! YOU FUCK APES?

AG: Shut up, Karkat! Humans can 8e cute too! And everyone knows you had a crush on Eg8ert 8ack in 10th grade.

CG: I DON’T FUCK APES, CARAPACES, OR ALL THOSE WEIRD NON-HUMANOIDS. I’LL STICK TO GREY ON GREY THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

GC: YOUR3 JUST S4Y1NG TH4T B3C4US3 YOUR F1SHY MOM H4D TH1NG FOR HUM4NS UNT1L DU4LSC4R B34T TH3 SH1T OUT OF H1M >:]

CG: MY POINT STILL STANDS. PLUS, THERE’S NO APES THAT ARE INTO TROLLS. APES ARE BIG CLUMSY COWARDS. THEY’RE TOO SCARED OF OUR TEETH, OUR CLAWS AND OUR INTERSEX ORGANS.

GC: OBJ3CT1ON!

GC: 1 C1T3 TH3 C4S3 OF 4 MR D4V3 STR1D3R WHO 1S W3LL KNOWN FOR, SH4LL W3 S4Y, 3NJOY1NG 4 B1T OF GR3Y SURF 4ND TURF?  >;]

CG: WHAT THE…

CG: …HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT, TEREZI?

GC: H33 H33 

GC: 1 JUST DO <3

AG: Ooooh, Terezi you are 8-A-D!

CG: WHATEVER.

CG: APES ASIDE, I’M HEADING TO BED.

GA: Take Care Of Yourself Karkat

CG: YEAH, YEAH…

— carcinoGeneticist has left the chat group! —

 

You put your iHusk down on an end table next to your recuperacoon. You go to sleep neck deep in slime and dream of the showers again. This time its Strider and he has you pressed against the tiled wall. He smacks your ass and demands you tell him how badly you want it. You moan, and admit in choked whispers that you want him to defile your nook with his useless, alien genetic material.

He obliges you. Your screams echo through the slippery tiled room.

You realize you’re not alone and turn your head.

Gamzee Makara stands in the showers, watching you in waiting anticipation.

You wake up with a startled gasp. Red genetic fluid has swirled to the top of the lime green slime. It reminds you of Winter Holiday decorations. You feel a little more annoyed with the holiday and considerably more disgusted by your hormonal body.

You growl and get out of the recuperacoon, peeling off dried slime as you head toward the bathroom.


	8. end with a bang

You stay home that day and no one protests. Kankri is off at another rally for the “yellow ceiling” to be broken in city hall’s hiring policies concerning salamanders. You know it will end in tear gas and him returning, proclaiming that social progress is a slow mistress before getting blasted on beer. Your mother will be at the salon, Walmart, and then home for a late dinner. They’ll both sit in silence at some point and wonder where their lives went astray.  

You decide to porch bug it up and drag your mother’s wicker chair onto the lawnring. It’s hot as a jungle inside and it stinks of sweat and skunked beer. You plop down in the chair and flip through your book. Its early morning and everyone else is heading to school. Nepeta walks out of her mobilehive, grinning up at some tall troll.

She sees you and waves. “Oh, Karkitty, there you are!”

You grunt and drink down your Diet Coke.

“Oh great it’s my _neighbor_ , who was so fucking courteous last night as to let her weirdfuck family keep me up all night with their banjo music and off key singing—cause, y’know, Wednesday night is a _great_ time to have a fucking party.”

Nepeta pouts. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Karkitty, but you know how it is. There’s no insulation to keep sound in. But don’t be upset!” She tugs the hand of the tall troll next to her, helping him out of the mobilehive door. “Watch your head, Gamzee.”

“I got it, purrsis.”

“Hee hee! Purrsis. I like that.”

You drop your Diet Coke when you see him: Gamzee Makara, holding Nepeta’s small hand with a glazed over look in his eyes. Nepeta is grinning like a cat covered in canary feathers.      

“Karkitty, this is my cousin Gamzee. He just got out of the Institute and he’s gonna be staying with us now! Isn’t that _great_?”

 

You stare at Gamzee, eyes wide. Gamzee gives you a dopey smile.

“Heh. What’s wrong, brother?” His eyes narrow a little. His voice drops an octave lower. _“It ain’t like we haven’t met before.”_

Nepeta looks at your face and frowns a little. “Karkitty, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You shake your head slowly.

“You not coming to class, my redbro?” asks Gamzee, “ _We’re going over some fascinating history about mutants and highbloods._ Seems like a lot of fun if you ask me. _Heh._ ”

Don’t get scared. Don’t get scared. Fear will just encourage him.

Gamzee’s eyes seem dazed but you know the gears are turning behind those dilated pupils. He tackles you without warning. He tears your clothes and Nepeta is screaming and trying to pull him off you. He backhands her and she goes down quick. You cry and try to fight him back. You know you can’t struggle against his highblood might no matter—

You slam the mobilehive door, abandoning the chair outside. You are shaking.

Nepeta is outside, left puzzled as to why you suddenly ran off. Your Diet Coke rolls on the lawnring, abandoned. You peek at them, from a corner of the window. Still trying to hide. She shrugs and walks away, holding Gamzee’s hand. Gamzee ambles away with her.

You feel heat between your legs.

You wanted that.

You wanted to be a humiliated and used up wreck of a troll.

You feel a little sick.

* * *

The day goes on. You stay inside and pig out on TV and Doritos. Subjug Shore. Extreme Hive Makeover. Cops. New Jack City 911. CSI: New Jack City. CSI: Bojangles. CSI: Mainland. Troll Maury. Troll Jerry Springer. Troll Ricki Lake.

You have to surrender the couch when Kankri arrives at 2 o’ clock. You don’t have to say anything. You know that look in his face means he’s already triggered. His left eye is swollen and bruised. The bags around his eyes are more obvious now.     

You know your father didn’t have the happiest of wrigglerhoods.

Sometimes you don’t blame Kankri for being so angry and trying to drown it in alcohol rather than lashing out at everyone (or lashing out more than he already does).

You stay in your bedroom and try to bury yourself in your novel, lying on your daybed. You try not to think about that time when all the ancient coldbloods from your dead homeworld saw everyone else repopulating the planet and their own lineages barren. They rounded up all the warmbloods…

You are your nameless grandfather, resting in a cave and hearing the roar of feral lusii outside. The others are asleep but you can’t get a full eight hours without sopor. You can no longer blot out the visions of blood and terror in your subconscious at your age. The Dolorosa sits next to you, and you realize that she looks only slightly like Kanaya. Her face is far more round, her fangs smaller, and round ears. She is pure jadeblood, not watered down by two generation of coldblood breeding.

  
  

“We can’t hide forever.” she tells you, “Even on this dangerous island they’ll find us sooner or later. When we’re out gathering food or water is when they will get us. They already have Megido and Leijon.”

You are silent.

“…there are worse things, my son. We could be back home and you could be culled for your preaching.”

You glower.

“If it is not one thing, it is the other! It is either to be culled in the name of preserving our society or be used by highbloods like a mothergrub and forced to play lusus to their offspring. When we found this world by sheer luck after defeating the False Emperor together, I thought things would be different! I thought after fighting alongside the Grand Highblood and Dualscar that we had established something meaningful: camaraderie! Friendship! Trust! Surviving what no other troll has! And now it has only been thirty years since then and they wish to revert back to our old ways? To kow-tow to their will?

“In this new age, on this brave new world, I dreamed of better things, mother! I can tolerate the trolls of the False Emperor not recognizing us or not believing we are from old dead Alternia. I can tolerate having my preaching ignored while trolls read from a tome of lies written by the False Emperor, who says I was made a martyr for my cause. But I will not be forced back into bondage by the highbloods all for the sake of ‘ _lineage’_! At what cost, mother?! For the price of our dignity; _all of our dignity!?”_  

You hear the trees cracking. A rumbling like thunder. A loud harsh laughter. You rush to the cave entrance, sweating. Your scythe is out. You’re terribly afraid of using it. You’re still a pacifist after all these years.

There is the Grand Highblood. In the midnight darkness, he is mostly hulking shadow and the terror in your digestive sack.

“There you are MY LITTLE MUTANT; looks like this round of hide ‘n’ seek IS FINALLY OVER.”

The doorbell ring startles you out of your daymare. You swear and hobble to your feet, shaking off your fears. You walk to the door, ignoring Kankri, who is passed out on the couch in alcoholic oblivion. You almost open the door but you stop yourself. What if it’s Gamzee? What if he’s here to finally take what he’s been wanting and drag you to his daybed? Uneasily, you look out the window.

It’s not Gamzee.

It’s Strider.

What in Blood and Haze could he possibly want? You open the door and glare at him.

“What do you want, ape?” you growl.

“I’m here to deliver your homework.” he answers.

“My homework?” You make a face. “Bullshit. There’s like a week of classes left. Why would I give two shits about homework?”

“Final exam and project.” Strider holds up a thick color coded packet of papers. “Or did you forget? Counts for half your grade. Any reason you got me standing in your doorway like I’m contagious?”

“You monkeys are crawling with ticks with all that disgusting body hair of yours.” you snarl, glancing over your shoulder. Kankri murmurs and rolls over in his sleep. “And why are you here? Why not Nepeta or Terezi, _not_ that you would know who they are, _ape_.”

You are doing your best to look angry and aggressive, hoping he leaves in annoyance. You are failing though because the heat from your nook is becoming unbearable and you know your cheeks are flushed. Strider tilts his head a little, wearing his usual poker face.

“They went out with Nepeta’s cousin to show him around Park Avenue.” he says, “If you want me to drop the stuff and leave, I’ll leave—”

“No! _Listen_.” You glance over your shoulder again before turning to him, whispering, “You can come in but you have to stay quiet. You don’t want to trigger my Dad out of his beer haze or it…it’s unpleasant as fuck.”

You let Strider inside the trailer. He looks toward Kankri, who continues to snore. You lock the front door and walk down the narrow hallway to your bedroom.

“Here.” you murmur. You’re sweating, feeling your body temperature rise. You know Strider is staring at the back of your neck and it unnerves you even more. You know your nook must be dripping now. You open the door and once he enters you shut and lock it. “Here. We can talk but we have to keep it down still. Walls are paper thin.”

“I live in a joint like this too you know.” Strider glances over at you. “Are you running a fever? Terezi told me you were…sick.”

The last word hangs in the air, as if he wants you to explain what’s going on. You sit on the daybed glowering as you reach for the colored packet in his hand. You’re not about to explain to an ape that you’re in a fertility cycle and want to jump him.

“I’m fine. It’s a troll thing.”  

Strider sits on the daybed next to you. It rocks a little and startles you. You’re not used to having someone else on it. Strider looks at the daybed, picking at the crumpled blanket. You are mortified when you recognize a pink stain, the remains of genetic fluid you couldn’t wash out entirely.

“So, if you trolls sleep in those weird pod things, what’s this bed for?”

You gulp, eyes on the stain. Strider looks over at you and you are trying to wear your poker face—which is bad because you’ve never played poker.

“Just for…relaxing on.” you say, “You talk to Terezi? I’ve never seen you talk with her at school.”

“We met online. She was trying to troll me like she did to Egbert but it backfired and we bonded over shit tier comics and gifs. We didn’t even know we lived in the same trailer park, or go to the same school.”

You fold her legs closer to your body, knees against your chest as you look at Dave Strider. “So.” you mumble, “You hang out with trolls.”

“Online at least, where no one can tell your blood color or if you have horns, skin, scales, or a rigid carapace.”

“You’re an ape who likes to eat out Alternian style.”

Strider looks at you, face still blank. You clench your teeth.

_“What do you want—”_

You’re on your back. Dave Strider is looking down at you, right hand gripping your shoulder. The colored packets have fallen on the floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you hiss.

“I didn’t know you were naïve enough to not know about this by now.”

“ _Get off!_ ” You hiss in a whisper.

The struggle is embarrassing; even though you have claws and teeth, you can’t fight off a human who is—admittedly—a foot taller than you. You end up on all fours with crouched behind you; a warm hand on your shoulder. The daybed creaks. You growl. You hate him. You hate this stupid ape. You hate that you’re panting. You hate that your boxers are wet with your own genetic fluids.

His hand grazes your nook. You moan a little, feeling him explore you. You look over at Strider, who is just staring at you. With those dark glasses you can’t tell what he’s thinking.  

“You _bastard_ …” you snarl, shuddering.

The corners of Strider’s mouth twist into a small smirk. “Keep it down, unless you want you want dear ol’ dad to wake up.”

You pause and strain your ears. Kankri is still snoring. Thank the gods above and below. You grind your teeth, “Not like you’re making it easy to keep my mouth shut.”

A warm hand runs under your sweater. You jolt, feeling fingers pull at the rim of your sweatpants.

“Then concentrate a little harder.” is Strider’s advice.

He pulls down your pants. You are shuddering, feeling damp summer heat along your naked thighs. Your vascular pump is thundering in your chest. You aren’t shaking from arousal anymore but anxiety. This would mark your first time with anyone besides your own claws down there and it’s with an _ape_ —of all the things to fuck on this lousy alien planet. Strider’s hands are working hard; one caressing your wet nook and the other rubbing lightly against your cartilage nubs. You shudder, covering your mouth and moaning louder.

Strider chuckles. “Have you wanted this all week? It’s damper than a Mainland jungle down here.”

“F-fuck…s-shut up would you?”  

“Then spread your legs more. How do you guys even fuck on these things? Bed is narrower than Captor’s ass.”  

“I haven’t fucked anyone…” you grumble, spreading your legs further apart.

His fingers inch your underwear down. The hand at your horns slides down the back of your skull, down your neck, your back…slipping down to your slowly uncovering bulge. Fingers stroke the middle girth of your bulge, thumb rubbing against the main vein in the center. You yelp from between your clenched fingers. More genetic fluid dribbles out. Strider strokes you a second time and you moan a little louder. A third time and you are shaking, biting down on your hand.

“Mmm! Just…ah gog… _mmph_! W-why are you…please… _ah_ …”

You hear Kankri snore louder…just as you feel something warm and slender press against your nook entrance. Strider’s fluid smeared hands grasp your waist as he slides into you. You clench your teeth, moaning. Hoping Kankri’s downed enough beers where he’s dead to the world.

  
 

And the worst part about this—even worse than being fucked by a monkey in the first place—is that Strider takes his time with you. The son of a bitch takes it slow. He moves with rhythm and purpose, leaving you snarling and growling in low whispers for him to stop toying with you. He keeps one hand on your thigh as he picks up speed in smalll increments, another at your horns so your head is jerked back. It’s as if he wants to see your face as it twists in near orgasm.

“F-faster… _fuck_ , go _faster_ …!” you grind out, in needy whispers.

An ape is making your quake, gasp, and shiver under him. Your bodies slide together, red drenching the mattress. And just as you feel him rub against your eggsack for the fifth time, just as you feel your nook tighten and all the muscles in your body wind up…

…the fucker pulls out of you.

Your nook clenches, feeling what suddenly isn’t there. You look over at him, sitting up on your knees.

“What the _fuck_ , monkey?!”  

Strider places a finger to his lips as he lies back on your daybed. You freeze and listen: Kankri mutters something, the old couch creaks, but there’s no sound of footsteps. You look back at Strider. You’ve only seen naked humans in Health class diagrams. You’ve never had the real thing a few inches from your over stimulated body. Strider’s lower half is smeared with red, the tip of his shaft dripping with precum. 

“If you want to get off, you’re going to have to start riding.”

“Riding? I’m not your _slave_ , ape!”  

“Then I guess you’re using your fingers to get you off pal, cause I’m not moving an inch.”

“You’re being a huge _dick_.”

“That’s why you love it, or you wouldn’t be painting the town red right now.”

You swear and curse Strider under your breath, putting your nameless grandfather to shame during his last anger filled moments. You crawl over to Strider, still glaring at him.

“Ride ‘em, cowgirl.”

_“Shut the fuck up…”_

You’re shaking as you climb onto him. Your fluids are everywhere, making your inner thighs sticky, warm, and slick. You try to ease down but you slip, falling and impaling yourself.

A small scream escapes your lips. You feel the alien shaft hit your eggsack. You pause, waiting to hear if your father wakes up, still quaking from having Strider wedged so deep inside of you.

Strider grabs your hips, moving so that his shaft is rubbing you internally. You growl, and he just smirks. You think he gets off on seeing you so annoyed and yet too needy to pull away from him. He moves further inside you, coasting along that tight wet passage. You give up on keeping quiet, bouncing on him. The daybed is screeching, the coil metal springs protesting this new, hyperactive movement. You feel like you’re at a rave concert with how much jumping you’re doing.

You can only beat back your instincts for so long, especially in the beginning of your heat. You scream when you climax, not caring about the noise anymore because you finally have that…that sweet, _sweet_ release. Strider is not that far behind. His nails dig into your ass as he fills your eggsack with some of his Strider Swag, with a pleased groan. He grins at you while you pant and shudder, sweat dripping from your face and onto his dark shades.

He slowly pulls out of your nook. You moan, feeling every inch drag out of you. Your nook is drizzling the pink of your mixed up fluids. Gods…by the gods above and below, by the Dodeca and the Octet, you’re never going to go back to using your fingers after this…

You hear a grunt from the living room. The couch is creaking and you hear footsteps.

Kankri is awake and slurring profanities.

Strider has already moved off of the daybed, tugging his pants up and tightening his belt. He forces open your window. He grabs you, jerking you toward him.

He kisses you, all tongue and passion.

Then he darts out the window, leaving just as suddenly as he arrived on your doorstep.

You’re winded as you watch him go, wondering if what just happened was reality or another chucklevoodoo hallucination. You’ve got liquid candycane going down your legs now, red and white pooling under you. You close your legs, pulling the rumpled and stained blanket over them. Kankri enters your room in a haze of alcohol and red flushed cheeks.

He demands to know what’s with all the fucking noise. You flip him off, tell him to fuck off, saying you were jerking off because you’re in heat. He warns you about triggering him and that you’re not old enough to avoid getting sense beaten back into you. You tell him he couldn’t walk over to you without falling over because he’s a drunk dreamless hopeless failing fuck of a man who isn’t so much a troll as he is a neutered declawed defanged dog.

You know that if you piss him off enough, he won’t wonder why your window is open or why your daybed looks like it recently got some hot wet action.

Your father grabs your arm, tossing you toward the bathroom. He says you smell like a whore strutting along Park Avenue for work. You say it takes one to know one.

He hits you across the face. You spit in his eye. You storm back to your room, gathering some fresh clothes and the remainder of your dignity. You say you don’t need this shit and you don’t need him either.

Kankri says you were a mistake forced on him by a vicious old bastard of a seatroll and that he never wanted a little bastard like you in the first place. He wishes he crushed your egg the minute you were laid or that Dualscar kept you like he kept Eridan.

You tell him that his dreams of social justice were always shit because no one was going to follow a hypocrite.

You leave the trailer bitter, still heated, and your pants clinging to you. You do need a shower. Kankri doesn’t bother trying to call you back. He shuts the trailer door and returns to the couch to continue drinking.

You walk toward Strider’s trailer, not caring what the neighbors think anymore.


End file.
